


How You Torture

by allsorrowsborne



Series: A Feeling, Undefined [5]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: BDSM, F/F, Fantasy, Kink, Masochism, POV Eve Polastri, POV First Person, Season 3, dark!eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsorrowsborne/pseuds/allsorrowsborne
Summary: My thoughts on Eve’s conflictual inner world. Fantasies of masochism, torture, and Villanelle.Written in the first-person; borderline prose/poetry.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: A Feeling, Undefined [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743235
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40





	How You Torture

There are many ways to torture. ~~~~

There’s the long drawn out thud of routines turned grindstones that wore me down until I was chalk dust and I did not know it until I stood up in the night to get a glass of water and found that my legs had no form.

There’s the look right through me glance right past me forget I am there because I’m not the blonde one the white one the young one the pretty one even though we both know I’m fine as all fuck.

A key in the door. “I’m home, honey.” Ants in treacle, swarming.

There’s doing my best to return to normal to find that my normal does not want me, has realized that I am an imposter and will not welcome me anymore.

A man lies in a different bed. A hospital gown. He should not be here. He should be dead. He cheats me out of my widow’s escape.

The tyranny of a happy end.

Those moments when the years catch up and lifespans shrink and timelines tip and I find myself on the other side of another number and what have I done what the fuck have I done?

You. You know. You know what I have done.

\---

I do not dream of him. Or him. Or him. Or him. The dead men of our acquaintance. I wait for ghosts. I wait. I wait. I look for blood. My hands are clean. Every night I pray for nightmares. I only dream of you.

\---

There are other ways to torture.

Lipstick spliced with knowledge of how I like to bleed.

Dresses, gift wrapped in murder and freedom.

A hand on my cheek, unclean. 

Shit and blood under nails from who you killed, fucked, long messy slow.

An invitation to look.

A knife at my sternum, lightly. The never left threat of where you will take this and when you will take me and what happens when you push it in slow.

We already know fast.

\---

The worst that can happen has already happened. The worst I could do I have already done.

I face it. Feel nothing. Forget it. Feel nothing. Push it aside like a child in a sweet shop, a man on a platform. Easier now than I ever knew. Feet that crack an old woman’s breastbone. I do not care.

Moral and mortal used to have meaning. I remember that as fact. Nothing more.

\---

I am coming for you V. I am like you now. I enter your vision, unexpected. I arrive unexplained in mundane places and fuck with your people as you fucked with mine.

You taught me well. We both know it.

I am not here to be kind.

\---

It is time. To give up the torture of what I deny us and take up the torture of what you can do. I know what you make of bodies. I have seen them after you’ve had your fill. I have walked through your crime scenes and walked out of funerals and watched the sun rise over a forest and picked through the remains. I have lain in your aftermath and survived.

I do not feel it. I do not feel anything. I need you to make me feel again. Make me feel things with you.

This is not a messiah complex. This is more than getting the girl.

Take this as my permission. Stray as you see fit.

\---

Show me one more way to torture.

Take my hand. Break my fingers.

Come for me as if I’m your target. Swing at me as if I’m a log. Not the shoulder, V. Not my shoulder. But do it, do it. Don’t think. Act.

Wrap rope around my wrists. Scrape skin. A wedding ring of twine that binds and injures. Do not let me look away. Let me feel confined, secure.

Tear my clothes with teeth that tore open a woman’s neck. Rip stitching. Expose my skin that never flushes, never trembles, not since –

Let me have your cruelty. Sneer at my nakedness. Find a way to loosen it, something that I can call shame. Stuff cloth into my mouth and make it safe to scream.

Body prone, face down on carpet. Give me the swing of your boot upon my mouth. The taste of blood that trails sensation, spilling over cracked lips. Maybe I can call that hurt. To spit on you and lick clean.

Press into the wound, V. Break it open. Push inside with nails too sharp to fuck a woman and dig around until you find it, pull it out, the hate and anger that lie somewhere still, surely. Let me know it once again, for you, for us, for me.

The other thing I never name. It builds in me alongside numbness leaving stains on dark blue cotton. Make it more and make me face it. Make me yours if you still will. Just make me someone who remembers why the effort ever mattered. Make me someone who remembers what it means to feel.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos/comment if you liked it. And say hi on twitter @olderthaneve


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